Confirming my suspicions about Aging Rockstars Eric Clapton kept still photographers at bay, a safe distance of half a mile from the stage. At the mixing board we stood and about midway through song #2 of 3 one of the colleagues was practically assaulted by an enraged fan who thought he'd be looking at our collective asses all evening.
Not only an Aging Rockstar, Clapton had quickly earned the rep at the venue of being a complete pain in the ass, a primo donno.
I shot a guitar fest gig en plain air at the waterfront and after two blues acts thought I was going to abso-freakin-lutely scream. I was 12-barred out! Thankfully Slash's Snakepit came out and realligned the day. One of my backstage hand acquaintances, upon hearing me gush about the band, handed me a SSP guitar pick which I will forever cherish. Slash was, of course, hot, musically & physically.
Oh, one of my new possessions? A coffin gurney. Garbage picked up in a northern suburb of this middling city. The HOUSE where it was pikt was tossing not one, not two, not three, but FOUR coffin gurneys. I was with Jen and she surprisingly and deftly folded the thing and operated all the knobs and things. We wrestled it into my car and it wasn't until it was just about in the vehicle that I realized it was a transporter for deceased bodies, not living ones. We believe(d) it would (with some minor adjustments and embellishments) make a swell snack table.
Tonight I write like the winds of hell are at my ass - translation: big deadlines. Thousands of words must now stream out of my brain like chlorinated city water out of a non-cinched hose.
Tomorrow night, Dave Matthews rolls into town. Love is in the air.